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Anyway, back to facts. I walked gingerly toward the palace. Some of the natives were in the fields and vineyards. They paused to look at me, a few waved but more turned away once they saw my tattered clothing and mussed appearance. Don't ask, certainly don't say a word. And, perhaps, living as they do under the largesse of Prester John, that complete fraud, it was better that they turn their heads than get involved. Remember, NOBODY wants to get too involved in anything around here. I no longer wonder why that is.
The "ladies in black" greeted me at the door, ushered me into my rooms and took away my clothing to be washed and mended. I thought to just slip into the bed and sleep for a hundred years, but realized that I had better get to dinner with my host and start asking some very pointed questions. Carefully, of course, but insistently.
I wonder whether Acdurian would have the nerve to show his blue-tinged face, the louse.
But that's neither here nor there.
I found some less restrictive garments in the wardrobe--some seamstress had been VERY busy while I was gone--and managed to dress myself (if you use ties and don't depend on corsets, ladies, the dresses are easier to put on and much more comfortable for you) and waited for the dinner gong. This guy brought every affectation wealthy Victorians held dear with him, in his mind, and replicated all that contrived stuff here in the middle ages off the coast of Africa, which Europeans hadn't ventured into since the famous guy destroyed Carthage. Yes, I realize I should have paid more attention. Was it Caesar? Who the hell cares right now?
There must be a hundred doors in the palace, all leading to several hundred rooms that held who knew what and housed who knows who. It only took me a dozen or so tries to reach the dining room. Without my escorts, I was pretty confused in here. I'm not used to all this glitter and gold and doorways.
Prester John sat at the head of the table. He looked up with a faint look of surprise which he quickly banished, then greeted me with a formal bow after he pushed himself away from the table. My guess is he was not expecting me or anyone else. Gallantly, he gestured to his right and I moved stiffly to my seat. He did hold the chair for me and assist me to sit, which despite me being a child of the newest century, I did appreciate. Everything was really starting to hurt and my muscles ached like hell. Being formal was not on the agenda for tonight.
But first, as the meal was served, I ate. I needed to restore my strength and all I'd eaten was that banana.
My host commented on the weather and asked whether I was enjoying myself, no questions on the state of my hands or the way I walked or the scratches on my face. Of course, that just may have been his good manners. Who knows? I was on the alert, though, for signs that he may have known what had happened to me. In my opinion, this Prester John was the consummate actor. For a fraud, someone from a future world where he could never have been king or never have made any great contribution to society. Well, he was a professor of some kind, but he left, booked out on his students to pursue his own agenda.
Well, I had mine and after the dessert (floating island, this meringue stuff that looked like a man-o'-war jellyfish in a sea of something soft and sugary) I started.
"I enjoyed the tour of Opar very much, until I was thrown from my horse," I began, hoping to get some sort of rise out of him.
"Thrown? Which horse? I will have it put down immediately."
The old shit.
"No, no need. It was not the horse's fault. The path gave way. It stopped in enough time to prevent it from going over the cliff, but I had been admiring the scenery and simply was not paying attention to the trail. My fault, entirely."
His wan smile gave away little.
"Did you visit the Atlantean village?"
"Oh, yes. It was evidently time for them to go to their temple, in fact, and Acdurian was only gone a few minutes."
This caused him to raise his bushy white eyebrows and turn a quizzical eye in my direction.
"You say Acdurian went into the temple? Tell me, did you notice anything changed about him when he returned?"
I paused. "Come to think of it, he looked slightly pleased with himself when he mounted up. I don't know how else to describe it. But the temple emptied out quickly and we were off on our tour. I do think, however, that whatever religious experiences one has in a temple or church can leave one feeling, how can I put this? Lighter? More at peace? No, that's not quite it. I would almost venture calling it a state of grace, perhaps, but not quite. Something beyond grace, more into personal satisfaction. Yes, that's it. More cat in cream than clear of conscience."
The old guy looked at me, surely judging what I had said and probably measuring the accuracy of my observation.
PJ cleared his throat. "Tell me, did you happen to notice anything odd about the top of the temple?"
"Odd, sir?"
His lips twitched with impatience. "Odd, as in anything different from what one would expect to see?"
Should I tell him about the crystal? How it glowed and sent that stream of blue light into the building?
I think not.
Not without getting what I wanted first.
"No, not that I recall. I saw the flying boats, though. They were pretty interesting."
The old geezer puffed out his chest. "'Twas I who got them up in the air again. The Atlanteans, for all their heritage, have lost so much of their abilities. I simply removed the burnt out crystals that powered the boats and replaced them with new, vibrant crystals. That is the source of their energy, you see. The crystals have power, much like electricity, only far more efficient and with less involved by way of generators and power plants, you see. But then, you coming from where you do, you know more about power generation, don't you?"
I shrugged. "I suppose, but all that is changing, probably even as we speak. Our world has realized that the old ways of using fuel are not good enough any more and we are searching for a way to harness the sun and its power." I stopped, not wanting to go into other alternative power sources. What would he make of it? Would it change the world? That was a bit too much for me to get into now.
But he warmed to the subject.
"Power, my dear Clopidogera, is all that matters. Not wealth, not brilliance, not what you have done, but rather the power you wield. That is most important in this or any time." His eyes sparkled and his whole demeanor became far more animated than I would have thought possible for such an old dude. Really. It was kind of scary for a moment. Then I remembered all I had seen so far.
"You're already regarded as the master of all you survey. What kind of power would you want over these people?"
"Ah, my dear, it is not power over these poor savages and remnants I wish. I would like to make an impression on the entire world. And, I have the ability to do so, even now."
My stomach dropped.
"Oh, really?"
He muttered into his napkin and stood. "Come with me, Clopidogera. I have something to show you."
I followed him as he brought me to his laboratory. Once at his overflowing desk, he rummaged around and finally produced a large parchment scroll.
"Do you see this? See this seal?" He unrolled the parchment and pointed at the seal in the corner. "See here? Do you know what this is?"
I tried to make it out, but I quickly discerned that the writing was in Latin or something. Probably Latin.
Impatient for an answer that I could not give, he proclaimed, "This missive is a letter directed to me, one Prester John, priest and lord of the Kingdom of Opar by the Pope of Rome. And, if I assume correctly, your classical education has been amiss and you cannot read it for yourself, I will translate for you.
"It requests that I give aid to the cause of the Crusades, as the Christians now hold Jerusalem, but the Mohammadans threaten to overtake them. Would I see it as my Christian duty to join with the other forces there and obliterate the problem?"
My eyebrows shot up, I could feel them hanging up by my hair line, and a cold shiver plunged down my back.
"The Pope? Asked this of you? How did he know you even existed?"
He giggled in a papery, old man sort of way that turned my stomach. "The Arabs have long visited Opar and tried to wrest it from the natives. I repelled them, sought to trade with them, and they agreed. Word must have gone to Rome from them, for it was from an Arabian trader that I received this missive."
"And, I suppose, you intend to assist the Crusaders?"
He fairly gloated, his thin chest puffed out and his eyes gleaming with confidence.
"Of course. Your Jennifer told me a great deal about the state of the world when she was here. She talked about wars and terror and the extent of the villains and their foul deeds in her time. I am normally a man of peace, but this is a golden opportunity to make my name and spare the world of the future a great deal of pain and destruction. I have the power to end this, once and for all."
Calling his bluff, I insisted, "Show me."
copyright 2009, Irene Peterson